


The Glory Days Of A Gory Past

by infandomswetrust



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Nostalgia, One Shot, Season 2 spoilers, kind of fix-it fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:01:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infandomswetrust/pseuds/infandomswetrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years after Mizumono, Will has accepted the ending of his story.<br/>But with a knock on his door, the silent promise of another chapter fills the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glory Days Of A Gory Past

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written since the finale, the other things I posted were pre-written and I just want you to know that I cried while writting this, k?

The air smelled of salt and the loud silence was peaceful enough to be suspicious. The only sound came from the never ending waves, softly swooshing over the warm sand, leaving a damp surface that formed a trace of little holes as Winston ran across it. Winston, the only memory of the past; a shadow of melancholy and nostalgia in the bright, hot light of the sun. Will hadn’t had the heart to leave him behind. He had been there from the beginning, witnessing the rise, the fall and the remaining shards. It was only fair to keep him a part of his story until the end.

But this was the end, wasn’t it? The storm was over, the damage done and Will had escaped. A survivor. Not a lone survivor, but lonely nonetheless. The years had gone by, the time threatening to bring acceptance, forgetting, resignation, but the fisherman had lost his anchor and his boat was floating on an uneven surface, wrecked and shattered, yet not sunken. But here, he had found a port. At least the idea of a port. He had found peace in isolation. This was the end. The end of his story. Maybe even a happy ending, considering the rest of the story.

Will watched how a seagull dove into the ocean, head first and reappeared above the waves with a helpless, squirming fish. He didn’t believe in justice anymore. Once, before it had turned to shades of grey, the world had been black and white to him. Now it was utterly colorless. The colors had been drained from the world in form of his blood, Abigail’s blood, Jack’s blood, Alana’s blood. With every last drop, another color had disappeared. He had taken them with him. All the colors. They were with him, somewhere in Europe, or Asia or wherever he was.

At first, life had consisted of ‘what if’s and ‘what could have been’s. It had been all Will had been able to think about. The storm hadn’t been inevitable. He had had the chance to stop it, to turn it into something like sunlight. Moonlight, at the very least. He hadn’t taken it. It had been his fault. Will had stopped blaming himself per se, the guilt was just a constant part of him now and would always be.

He whistled for Winston and went back inside his shed. It was small, very much so, but it didn’t matter. The entire shore was his, the next house hours away. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and walked over to the skylight. The little house lay on the route of some airlines, and often he would stand there and stare up until his neck hurt.

Imagining him in each and every plane. Wondering what places he had seen in those past years, while all Will had seen was the colorless ocean, the colorless sand and the colorless sky. Imagining seeing those places with him and Abigail.

That was all Will’s life was now. Imagination. Everything that had been real had been taken from him. Except for Winston. He was the only thing from Will’s past that was here. The only visible reminder apart from the scar on his stomach. Every night Hannibal stabbed him again. Every night Will awoke bleeding. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept more than three hours. He closed his eyes and heard a knock. A memory from many years ago. Minnesota. Breakfast.

_I don’t find you that interesting._

_You will._

Looking back it sounded like a threat. No, like a promise. His eyes snapped open as he heard the knock again.

It wasn’t imagination. It was real. Maybe the first real thing since Will had moved here. He was tempted to just listen to the knock for a while, to feel that strange sense of reality rather than find out its source.  When Winston scratched at the door excitedly however, Will walked over to open it.

There was color.

Will blinked. The rest of the world was still plain, but there was color on the person in front of him. He carried it, carried all the colors, even if the only visible one was black. Antlers towered from his head, leaving a scratch on the sky above, a scratch that immediately leaked more color. The color spread and Will realized that the sky was still blue. It was somehow comforting to know the colors hadn’t changed in their absence. Will blinked again and instead of the black creature another memory stood in front of him. A memory that was very real and very present. The colors were radiating from the man in front of him, leaking off his pristine suit and painting a beautiful landscape around them. Clouds were still white. The ocean still blue. Leaves still green. Hannibal’s eyes still maroon with crimson speckles.

The silence continued to stretch as Will watched the world adjust to their newly regained colors. They stood and stared, and Will wondered if maybe, _maybe_ he had taken the colors from Hannibal too. If maybe he was here to take them back. When Winston whined next to them, it broke the spell of silence that had been upon them and Will was able to produce a sound, his voice raspy and used from too much screaming, too much crying throughout his lifetime.

“Are you here to finish what you started?” he asked monotonous and felt his scar tingle. He stared up at him, waiting for a knife that never came. Hannibal’s features were soft, sad and happy at the same time.

“If I wanted you dead, you would have never woken up again after I left.”

His voice was small, quiet and faint like the soft ocean breeze. Will could see how he swallowed. It was horrible to see this. Horrible to see him vulnerable, emotional, because the only other time he had seen him like this had been during the bloodbath they both had to answer for.

Hannibal took a step closer, slowly and hesitantly, and his hands came up, one to wrap around Will’s waist, pulling him close, one to sink in his curls, holding him exactly like he had been six years ago, only this time there was no knife between them. No pain separating them. They were finally, truly even. Completely even. Facing each other with nothing left, because the other was all they had. No barriers, no lies, no secrets; nothing but the colors they brought each other back. Will stiffened but reached up to clutch at Hannibal’s arms, mirroring the actions of the past, but feeling no pain, not even the memory of pain. The only thing he felt was a steady anchor sliding back in place. A teacup coming back together.

“I didn’t. I never woke up.” Will whispered and buried his face in the crook of Hannibal’s neck. “Not until now.”

He pulled back and stepped out of the house, past Hannibal to sit on the wooden steps of his porch. After a short moment of hesitation, Hannibal sat down next to him, sand and dirt tainting his fine suit. They stared at the ocean. Will didn’t ask if Bedelia was still alive. Hannibal didn’t ask if Alana, Abigail or Jack were still alive. Instead they sat in silence until Will asked:

“Why now?”, his voice barely audible underneath the hisses of the waves. Hannibal tore his gaze from the ocean slowly to stare at Will, drinking in a sight he had been denied the past six years.

“When I left, I told you something.” he said softly. “I told you I forgive you.”

Will glanced at Hannibal and swallowed hard, remembering the moment.

“Am I forgiven too, Will?”

“I’m not entitled to forgive you. Not after everything you’ve done.”

“Not after everything you _let_ me do. You forced me to do.” Hannibal replied. “Will, our guilt for what happened is equal. We are equal. A fact that you didn’t accept, despite everything I showed you. But you refused to see.”   

“I didn’t refuse. I was scared to see. I didn’t want to see because seeing would have meant leaving with you.”

“And leaving with me would have prevented a tragedy.”

“No. It would have postponed it. Tragedy flows in you like the blood in your veins. Leaving wouldn’t have meant leaving it behind.”

“It flows in you  as well. Tragedy is an inevitable part of life. We have no control over it, but we can control its extent.”

“Do you truly believe we could have reduced its extent by leaving? You can’t stop a teacup from breaking if you’ve already dropped it.”

“Unfortunately that is true. But you can pick up the pieces and create something new.”

“Is that why you’re here? To pick up pieces? Or do you intend to shatter me further?”

Hannibal looked at him, his eyes clouded for a moment with something Will realized could only be described as sadness.

“I am here to pick up pieces indeed.” The doctor swallowed. Silence settled for a while before he added. “The pieces I desire to pick up are not yours. They are mine.”

“I changed you.” Will remembered.

“If I shattered you Will, you did just the same to me.”

“How did you find me?” Will asked apropos of nothing and looked back at the ocean.

“I never lost you. All this time I was a silent, distant observer. I was waiting for this moment to come.” Hannibal said quietly.

Will’s eyes widened a bit when realization came. Last week the observation of Will’s little house had terminated. The FBI had never given up on the Chesapeake Ripper, but after six years they had finally stopped believing that he would come for Will. Will had stopped believing years before. He had accepted the colorlessness.

“You waited for me.” Will muttered and closed his eyes.

“I have been ever since I asked you to leave with me that night.”

“I can’t forgive you, Hannibal. It wouldn’t be fair.” Will said under his breath. His eyes were filling with tears but he didn’t try to hold them back. Hannibal had seen him at his weakest, what did it matter now?

“Would it be fair to continue carrying this weight? Do not punish yourself by punishing me, Will. I may deserve it, but you don’t.”

“Yes. Yes I do. I deserve it more than you. What happened was my fault. I pulled the trigger, you were just the bullet.”

A tear made its way down Will’s cheek and a warm thumb caught it and wiped it away. Hannibal’s finger lingered on his face, stroking over his cheekbone softly and Will leaned into the touch.

“If you cannot forgive me, forgive yourself.” the older man murmured. Somewhere down the shore Winston barked. Somewhere a seagull cried. Somewhere a beetle buzzed. Will sighed deeply.

“Why did you come here? I finally had peace.”

“A long time ago we made a promise to be honest to each other. Don’t break it a second time.” Hannibal answered and his hand moved from Will’s cheek to tangle in his curls.

“I had blankness. It wasn’t good but it was better than whatever it is you bring.”

“That depends on what is done with said blankness. We have the opportunity to paint a new picture. To right all the wrongs. Will you renew our fate with me, Will?”

Will opened his eyes and turned towards Hannibal. He didn’t believe his fate could be renewed. He didn’t believe his story could have any other ending than this. Yet here he was. Sitting next to the man who brought back the colors. His story hadn’t ended after all. Will leaned in and closed his eyes again, waiting for a kiss that never came.

Will opened his eyes with a start. No colors. No sounds. Just his empty shed in the middle of nowhere. He sat up in the small, sweat soaked bed and buried his face in his hands. Of all the dreams he had had of Hannibal; stabbing him, slicing Abigail’s throat, taking everything and never bringing it back; this one had hurt the most. Apparently his mind was caught in a loop, and after six years he was suddenly back at ‘what if’.

Then he heard a knock.

_I forgive you._

 

 

 


End file.
